


He ain't heavy, he's my cousin

by Daegaer



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Troy (2004)
Genre: Ancient Greece, Cousins, Crossover, Demons, Fallen Angels, Humor, In Conclusion - cousins, M/M, The Iliad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-12
Updated: 2004-12-12
Packaged: 2018-11-19 07:39:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11308788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/pseuds/Daegaer
Summary: Crowley's sure he knows the truth about Achilles and Patroclus.





	He ain't heavy, he's my cousin

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://ithurtsmybrain.livejournal.com/profile)[**ithurtsmybrain**](http://ithurtsmybrain.livejournal.com/) , a _Good Omens/Troy_ crossover (so the whole war takes a few weeks). Crowley/Patroclus.
> 
> With many thanks to [](http://louiselux.livejournal.com/profile)[**louiselux**](http://louiselux.livejournal.com/) who hurt her brain by betaing!

In theory, Crowley had nothing against war. Nothing got the human inventive spirit going like devising new and interesting ways to kill each other, and he enjoyed seeing the leaps and bounds technology made. In practice, he wasn't that keen on getting too close to wars, preferring to keep his skin in one rather attractive, if he said so himself, piece. Not to mention the fact that the whole business of actually killing people wasn't really his goblet of watered wine, although the humans seemed to enjoy it quite a bit.

Currently, he was sitting on a makeshift bench, leaning back against one of the beached ships and digging his toes into the warm sand. Not much killing had happened for a while, and as he looked up and down the shoreline he saw plenty of bored faces. He assumed that eventually the soldiers sitting round on the beaches would get to let off a spot of steam, but right now all they were doing was sitting and drinking, and occasionally fighting over some of the prettier captives. The Trojans had retreated behind their massive walls, and it very much looked like this was going to be a long drawn-out siege.

As usual in this sort of situation, Crowley was feeling a bit bored. Tempting the Greek soldiers was no challenge, and even though Crowley approved of not having to work very hard, he had to admit it was all getting a bit samey. "Why not indulge in a spot of gluttony?" he'd suggest, and every blasted Greek in earshot would wander off to steal someone's cow to roast. "Show me a bit of pride," he'd whisper, and then have to sit through hour after hour of bloody hexameter verse on the subject of "Why What's-his-face the son of Who's-that-guy-again was the most brilliant hero of the age." When you added in the fact that the Greeks seemed to naturally be a slothful yet wrathfully energetic, lustful, covetous bunch, they had pretty much his whole portfolio covered. About the only thing they weren't was despairing, and as despair was Crowley's least favourite sin - too bloody depressing - he wasn't that worried. What he _was_ was a demon with sudden free time on his hands.

The devil finds work for idle hands, of course, which was why Crowley was turning in time sheets that claimed he was working his claws off. What he was really doing, however, was sleeping late and going to bed early, and going to parties where people chanted hexameter verse, but as long as he was drunk enough he didn't care. It was at one of the better class of parties - the ones that didn't involve the guests drawing swords over deadly insults someone's great-great-grandfather had made to someone else's - that he noticed a potential source of mischief.

"Who's that fellow with the scowl and the air of doom and destiny hanging over his head?" he asked the man lounging next to him.

"S'Achilles, innit?" the man said indistinctly around the mouthful of roasted stolen cow he was devouring.

" _That's_ Achilles?" Crowley said. "Huh. I was expecting a bit more from someone who says his mum's a sea goddess. He could at least have combed his hair. And who's his boyfriend?"

"Patroclus," the man said, "only s'not his boyfriend, s'his cousin."

"His _cousin?_ " Crowley said. "Come off it, they've been making eyes at each other all evening."

"His cousin," the man said firmly, and went back to eating.

Crowley prodded the man on the other side of him. "Hey," he said. "That tall young fellow over there, the one who looks like he'd enjoy surfing if it was going to be invented any century soon - who is he?"

"Achilles' cousin," the man said blearily.

"Not his boyfriend, then?"

"Cousin," the man said, and fell asleep.

After he'd got the same response from every man at the party he thought he might as well get an answer from the horse's mouth. He plonked down beside Achilles, who was staring moodily and heroically into the middle distance, coincidentally showing his best side to the crowd.

"Evening," Crowley said grinning. "I couldn't help but notice that attractive young man who just passed out in your lap. Is he a friend of yours?"

"He's my cousin," Achilles said, casually lifting the hand that had been playing with Patroclus' hair, and scratching his head. He looked rather shifty to Crowley.

"I commend you on your closeness to your relatives," Crowley said, giggling as Patroclus sleepily nuzzled Achilles' thigh.

"We've always been close," Achilles said, even more casually shoving Patroclus off his legs and folding his hands primly over his lap.

"So I see. Well, it's been a lovely party, but I simply must go," Crowley said cheerfully, and slipped outside. He rather thought he'd found a means of diverting himself. He'd have them sleeping together within a week.

It wasn't as easy as he'd assumed. He rather thought he remembered the Greeks as being well - a lot more versatile than the men camped out on the beach seemed to be. There were girls in plenty throughout the camp, you couldn't turn round without some winsome little curly-headed slave girl batting her eyelashes, but there seemed to be a distinct lack of pretty boys. How peculiar. Patroclus himself seemed to be rather taken aback by Crowley's suggestions.

"I know you love your, ahem, cousin," Crowley started, and was pleased to see Patroclus nod eagerly.

"I worship the ground he walks on!" Patroclus said, "He took me in when my parents died, he's taught me to fight, he's brought me here to Troy."

"Good, good," Crowley said. "And aren't you distraught that he doesn't seem to return your affections?"

A confused look crossed Patroclus' pretty, but rather dim, face.

"But he took me in when my parents died, and he's taught me--"

"Yes, we've already established that. But your, erm, _affections_ , that's what I'm talking about."

"Cousins should be affectionate," Patroclus said, with what Crowley decided was the tiniest touch of guilt in his voice.

"Aha!" Crowley yelled. "You people can't fool me!" He rubbed his hands together. "Right, this is a rough and ready time, so I'd recommend against roses and boxes of chocolates, mainly because it'll be thousands of years before you can get a really good example of either. Here's what we'll do, we'll get him _really_ drunk, and then I'll leave you two together, and I think you'll find that this sorts itself out well enough."

"Why do I want to get him drunk?" Patroclus said.

"Well, if you think he'll see sense when he's sober, that's fine, you know him better of course. We'll make sure you've had a bath, and if you'll pardon me pointing this out, he seems to like curly hair, if that Trojan bit of fluff is anything to go by, so we'll do something with your hair, and maybe paint your nails, but that might be a bit much, and --"

"Wait, wait," Patroclus said, rather alarmed as Crowley shoved him into the sea and dumped a bottle of miracled shampoo over his head. "Why are we doing this, again?"

"Because," Crowley said with patience, giving up on the idea of actually forcing Patroclus to wash and simply wishing him clean and dry, "Although you seem unaware of the fact, you love your cousin, and he loves you and I am very bored."

"But of course we know we love each other," Patroclus said, "he took me in --"

". . . You have no idea what I'm talking about do you?" Crowley said in disgust.

Patroclus shrugged helplessly. Crowley sighed, scowling at him. And after he'd thought he could pass a bit of time starting up an epic romance, and wasted his time making the fellow look presentable. He stalked around the confused Patroclus, taking in the view. Not bad. A bit like one of the rank and file of the Heavenly Host, if you sanded them down and made them mortal.

"Look," he said reasonably, "I can see you're very stupid, so I'm prepared to give you a few pointers. All right with you?"

Patroclus shrugged again. "I suppose," he said in the dim, amenable tones he took with everyone.

"Good," Crowley said with a sharp grin, and made them both invisible with a wave of his hand.

Somehow he never quite got round to kick-starting the epic romance, but Crowley had to admit that he did manage to divert himself quite nicely for a few weeks, until it all went tragically pear-shaped.

And Achilles never knew what he was missing.


End file.
